Kinda poetic justice.
???
But my plans to leave as quickly as I can and deal with my brother have to be put on hold.
In the morning, the police arrive.
They ask very direct questions. It is almost a full interrogation.
I know exactly how to behave around the police, because there are mafia connections there too, and who knows if I’m not talking to someone who answers directly to Rocco.
So I say cautiously that I have no idea who could be behind the attack. The police don’t let it go that easily. One of them asks whether it could have been someone from my family, deliberately emphasizing my last name every fucking time.
"Mister Ferro," he repeats, stressing it again without any real need.
I answer with feigned indifference. "I know as much as you do. If it was someone from my family, then you have more resources than I do to find that out."
"We’re trying to help you, but if you’re not honest with us…"
"I have no idea what my brother did, or rather what he supposedly did. We went out for a walk, and something hit our unit. Maybe it was an accident."
The officers study me with skepticism, but they can’t pull anything more out of me, and eventually they give up.
For now, Salt and I remain housed in the main building, in one of the hospital rooms. We’re advised not to interact with the other program participants, so that, as Gomez delicately puts it, we don’t expose them to danger, until everything is cleared.
Unfortunately, this situation leads to seven more applications to leave the program being submitted the very next day. People aren’t exactly eager to live somewhere that gets bombed by drones. Go figure.
Well, I guess I brought this program some trulyterribleluck.
The next day, Salt and I sit by the window, watching a few alphas tossing a ball around on the field near the rec building, going over every possible scenario.
Salt has reluctantly accepted what I have to do, but he’s not at peace with it—at all. I can see it eating at him. He keeps biting his fingers, probably swallowing half his nail polish in the process. He hasn’t done that in a while.
After a long stretch of silence, he finally says, "Eliano, I hate that you’d have to break your own principles. That’s not who you are. You never wanted to go down this road. Vigilante, punisher… that’s more my territory. I never had a problem killing those bastards. They were rapists who kidnapped and abused omegas. But your own brother? Maybe you should think about this again."
"Salt," I say quietly, "the only thing stopping me is the thought of leaving you alone. That’s it. I need to make sure you’re safe first. This mission might take a hell of a long time, and that would mean leaving you alone on the island, exposed not only to alphas like Steph but to more attempts from Rocco. That’s not acceptable. I’m still trying to figure out what to—"
Suddenly, a beta knocks on the door, and after Salt’s invitation, he walks into our room.
"There’s a call for you, sir. Please come to the conversation room."
Suspecting it might be the police again, I follow him right away.
Salt stays in the room.
We head to the administrative building, and I step into one of the small call booths.
My mind is anything but calm. I’m already running through a list of scenarios, but I come up empty. The island has a very strict policy, no outsiders allowed, so hiring someone to act as Salt’s protector wouldn’t be easy. Especially since I’d probably have to arrange it behind Gomez’s back again, through Blue, and I’d really rather avoid asking for another favor.
This dilemma is killing me. I’m stuck here, and someone has to deal with Rocco.
Like I said, I need a miracle.
Ideally, I’d find someonewillingto take the job, but who would that even be?
I sit down in front of the screen, not expecting anything unusual.
The beta initiates the call.
